


Whispers

by glacis



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-27
Updated: 2010-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:52:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair hears something he didn't expect, and Jim reacts to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispers

Whispers, a Sentinel story with revelations from the Guide, by Glacis. Rated NC17. No copyright infringement intended in this little epiphany. Set in the time frame of the episode Neighborhood Watch. Enjoy!

"There's no way they're just buddies, Jake. Ellison's all over him!"

Well, of course he was. If he let go, he might drown. With the ease of long practice, Detective Jim Ellison carefully closed off any other reasons he might have for constantly keeping his hands on his partner and tuned out yet another overheard debate about their relationship. No one would ever know the truth, except for Simon, and since he couldn't explain even to himself his need to be in his Guide's personal space as often as possible, he just ignored the whispers.

Wasn't as if it was the first time. There was a reason he got out of Vice, and it wasn't just the lousy attitude. There had been more than a few careless whispers about how easily he slipped undercover, how good he was at what he did, how far he'd let them go before he hauled them in. He could have quoted chapter and verse of the penal code at them, but it wouldn't have done any good. They saw what they wanted to see, said what they wanted to believe.

Shook 'em up a little when he married Carolyn. Got 'em all talking again when they split. And the chorus had risen to a roar when he first introduced the short, bouncy, long haired hippie academic as his 'observer.' Three years later the roar had faded to a background hum, but it was still there. He shrugged it off, as he always had, keeping an eye peeled to make sure nobody got in Sandburg's face about it.

Turned out he didn't have to worry about that. The few times anyone made the mistake of getting into Sandburg's face about anything, the kid had turned on a flair for dramatic improvisation that pulled all their butts out of the fire. Nothing like single-handedly saving headquarters on his first day to shut a lot of big mouths.

Okay, maybe that was overstating it … but not by much. And Sandburg was such a sunny character, most of the time, and such a puppy, with those big, bright eyes and that enthusiastic grin, trying to be helpful all the time, that those who had been tempted to hurt him had found themselves faced with an intimidating wall of Major Crimes Division muscle blocking their efforts. Few people intentionally kicked puppies, anyway, and those sick fuckers that did soon got their own heads handed back to them.

"What's so funny, big guy?" came a soft whisper from his side. He glanced over toward his partner, meeting inquisitive cobalt eyes, and realized he was wearing a rather feral grin. He automatically softened it.

"Not much, chief," he murmured back, forcing his concentration back to the computer monitor. "Just some of the guys talking about some stuff by the donut cart."

"Care to share the joke?" Mischief and curiosity mingled equally in the question. Jim shook his head.

"Not that funny, Junior, and I don't think you're old enough to hear it, anyway," he teased. Blair growled up at him, teasing back, and they each returned to their interrupted tasks. Across the room, Sentinel hearing picked up the last of the conversation. For now, anyway.

"Can't say I blame him, anyway."

"You're shittin' me."

"Take a good look at that kid, Pete. Have to admit, he's a looker."

"You gotta point, but I still don't see Ellison as a fairy."

You have no idea, Jim thought, but this time he didn't smile. Beside him, Blair settled more comfortably in his chair and remained submerged in the Maya, oblivious to the whispers around him.

 

It had been a hell of a weekend, Blair grimaced to himself, still trying to get the taste of whatever the thieves had poisoned him with out of his mouth. He still couldn't believe the scope of the operation, or the incredible balls of the gang, making a whole town sick so they could hijack a trainful of money. Oh, well, at least the good guys had won in the end. Again.

He steadfastly refused to look at what had hurt the most. So, Jim had needed some time alone. Hey, the guy was a loner, and god only knew he, Blair, was a high maintenance type for the strong silent ones to put up with -- he never stopped talking, he listened to weird music, he was always there. No wonder Jim had needed some space. No wonder … Jim had felt like a lab rat.

That hurt more than he wanted to admit, so he did what he always did when something struck to close to home. He left. Or, more to the point, for the first time in his life, he offered to leave, and hoped like hell the offer would be turned down. He couldn't believe the depth of relief when Jim had immediately told him to stay. He'd never been this deep in his life, never had somebody who needed him the way Jim needed him, and could never need him the way Blair wanted to be needed.

There were times when life really sucked.

Being severely in lust with a guy so straight he could be used as a level was one of the suckiest. Blair did a little mental tap dance and ignored the voice screaming at him from the back of his head that told him it went just a little bit deeper than lust … like clear into the deep end of the love pool. And he couldn't swim. It had been silent in the car so long that he jumped slightly when Simon's deep voice finally sounded.

"Should've just let you come up by yourself." There was a certain sadness on the normally stern features that Blair had never seen.

"What do you mean, man? He didn't want to see either one of us. Guess when he said he needed some head space, he meant it." He happened to be looking directly at the captain, or he never would have seen the fleeting expression of impatience that passed over his face. "What? What is it?"

"Nothing, Sandburg. Nothing at all."

Blair didn't believe it, but he let it slide for the moment. In some ways Simon was a lot like Jim. When they didn't want to talk about something, they clammed up tighter than a couple of stones. Jim, at least, he could usually wheedle it out of him, but no way would he push too hard with Simon. He squirmed in his seat, ignoring the occasional glare from the driver's seat, then it finally burst out of him.

"I can't believe he said I made him feel like a lab rat! We don't do that many tests. Hell, trying to get him to stay focused on a test when there's anything else at all around to do is practically impossible. Jags game, case to crack, even paperwork is better than one of my tests. You'd think I do it to torture him instead of helping him-"

"I warned you not to work him too hard, Sandburg."

"-and it is working -- too hard? C'mon, Simon, controlling his Sentinel skills has saved his life on more than one occasion, and a lot of other people's lives, too! And I don't work him too hard. Pinning him down once a month or so to do some intensive tests is the most I can get out of him-"

"try tying him down. He'd go for that." Muttered, under his breath, so low Blair almost didn't hear it. Almost.

"- and most of the time I have to settle for catching him on the fly for a few … what did you say?" He turned completely in the seat, nearly strangling himself on the seat belt. "Simon?" he tried to be forceful, but it came out pleading. He swallowed, staring at his friend, wishing he could read the expressionless face better. Banks was damned good at stonewalling when he wanted to be.

"Not a thing, Sandburg. Turn back around, the belt's no good when it's all rucked up like that."

Blair couldn't get another word out of him the entire drive back to Cascade that didn't have to do with sports, the weather, Daryl, or fish. It was an extremely frustrating afternoon.

He couldn't get the implications out of his head for the next several days. He'd thrown himself headlong into a flirtation with a pretty lady and her adorable daughter to escape the fact that he was living with his male partner and female coworker, a gorgeous redhead named Megan, surrounded by bountiful female flesh, and all he could think about was getting into Jim's pants. He'd even gotten a hard-on in the kitchen listening to Jim telling the scumbag assassins dressed up as swinging neighbors that they rented Blair out on weekends. The mental image of Jim using him the rest of the week almost made up for the slimy feeling he'd gotten from being visually undressed by the creepy duo. He'd felt used, he'd said, but what he'd meant was that he wanted to be used. And not by the swingers.

Now he was caught between shielding the truth of Jim's abilities from the too-observant Australian inspector, fighting his previously well-ignored attraction to his partner, trying to figure out a way to explain to Simon that he had it all wrong without having to actually articulate what 'it' was, and reining his body in every time Jim touched him, which suddenly seemed to be every time he took a breath. He was running around in circles and he couldn't get his mind out of his crotch.

It was very distracting. And Jim wasn't helping much. He was not being careful about obfuscating in front of Megan. He was practically wrapped around Blair every time they went into Simon's office. He was constantly brushing Blair's hair away from his face or touching his shoulder or tapping his thigh or leaning against his back.

It was driving Blair Sandburg very quickly insane.

How had he never noticed this before? Never allowed himself to notice it? How could he help noticing it? Jesus, Jim was constantly in his personal space. Of course, he was constantly in Jim's space, too. But not nearly as far in as he wanted to be. Or as far in him as he wanted Jim to be.

Pulling himself out of his funk as much as he could, he was heading toward the break room for some much needed caffeine when he heard his name. Instinctively, he stopped, just out of sight of the two people in the room, and cocked his head, listening intently. The voices were easy enough to recognize, but what they were saying nearly made him keel over from shock.

"I still say it's a waste." Rhonda, with a bit of a whine in her voice, but no condemnation that he could hear.

"How can love ever be a waste?" Joel Taggart. Defending him. Defending them. "Just because Jim and Blair are guys instead of one of them being a woman, doesn't mean they love each other any less." Or, at least, defending whatever it was he saw when he looked at them … what Rhonda, and Simon, and god only knew who else appeared to see as well. "Sounds like sour grapes to me, Rho."

"Can't say there's not some of that, Joel, but still. Waste of some good manhood there." She didn't sound convinced.

"I don't think they see it as a waste of anything. Me, neither. Looks like something strong, and good, from where I'm coming from." End of conversation, it sounded like, and Blair blended back into the wall as Taggart barreled back into the bullpen, not noticing the small, still figure behind the door.

So much for caffeine. Giving in to the instinctive urge to flee, Blair was in the bathroom hiding in a stall and shaking before he realized he was even moving. Sitting on the toilet, staring at the phone numbers scratched into the paint, he waited for his heart to stop racing and his eyes to pop back into his head. Reaching out a hand to unlock the door and peek back out into the world, voices stopped him mid-movement.

"'Course she's pretty, in a skinny, fighter kind of way." Brown's voice. Who was he talking about? "But I can't figure out what she's saying half the time- " Ah. Megan. "And there's no way Ellison's gonna give up Hairboy for her."

"Nah, I can't see it either. Those two are joined at the hip."

One part of his mind pegged the voice -- Harrison, one of the uniforms -- while the other ninety per cent was gibbering in the corner. Did everyone in the whole fucking station think he and Jim were sleeping together?

"Now, that's a nice mental image," Brown responded sarcastically. There was a flush, then another, then the sound of a door closing behind one man. Blair sat still as stone the whole time. Then, barely whispered, he heard another comment as Brown dried his hands and headed out the door. "Think maybe I'd be willing to pay to see that." He didn't sound like he was joking.

Blair's head was spinning. He tried to stand twice before he managed to get out of the stall. Then he splashed at least a gallon of cold water on his face, straightened his back, and headed for the desk he shared with Jim. Halfway there, he had to stop, take a deep breath, wince, adjust himself, and take a series of slightly more shallow breaths in an attempt to calm himself. When he made it to the desk, Jim, being Jim, immediately put a big hand in the middle of his back and started rubbing circles along his spine. This did nothing to calm him -- quite the contrary. Blair jumped as if the hand had scalded him. Jim looked up at him like he was losing his mind. How appropriate, Blair thought somewhat hysterically.

"What's wrong, little buddy?" Jim asked the question in a low, soothing voice, as if Blair was a horse that was about to bolt into a burning building. "You okay?"

"Oh, yeah, Jim, I'm fine, no problem, everything's going just great. Don't you have some paperwork to do or something? At your computer? At your desk? With both hands on the keyboard?" He was talking so fast his words were running together and he could hear the pitch gradually increase. Before the full blown panic attack could hit, and leave him at the mercy of those hands doing things he needed but not the things he wanted, he grabbed his backpack and headed for the door in high gear. "Me, too, man, got some exams to grade, at the U, yeah, and then I have to do office hours, so they know I'm still there, you know? I'll see you tonight!" The elevator closed on the words, and shut off his final glimpse of Jim, still sitting at his desk, looking like he'd been poleaxed. Good going, Sandburg, Blair bitched himself out. Confuse the shit out of him then leave him hanging. Run away. That's pretty fucking typical.

The tirade continued all the way into the garage, where he realized he'd caught a ride in with Jim that morning and had no way of getting to the University without walking or calling a cab. To his sincere relief, as he wasn't looking forward to going back upstairs and trying to explain himself to Jim since he couldn't explain it even to himself, he saw Rafe heading out toward his car.

"Hey, man, can I catch a ride with you?"

His friend nodded companionably, and he hopped in beside the cop and headed out into the soggy sunshine. Keeping up a running flow of innocuous conversation all the way to the University, he waved goodbye to Rafe, dragged himself into his office, locked the door, and plunked down at his desk, laying his head on the cool surface and closing his eyes.

"What the hell do I do now?"

No one answered.

 

The next three days were hell on the partnership. Blair was jumpy as a deer on the first day of hunting season, and Jim reacted to his nerviness by attempting to calm him down the way he always did -- get closer, hover protectively, touch constantly. This, of course, made Blair even more tense, until he jumped like a scalded cat every time Jim touched him. Not being completely dense, Jim finally realized that his attempts to help were making matters much worse, and reacted, again, as expected.

He closed up completely, withdrew into himself, and zoned out twice in the same day. Well, it was one way to get Blair to touch him, at least. Unfortunately, the second time was in the middle of a firefight and nearly got both of them killed.

"Sandburg! Ellison! What the hell is going on here?" Simon Banks was the only person Jim had ever met who could bellow below his breath. Vaguely, Jim was aware that Blair was babbling at his side, but the only real connection he had to reality at the moment were those fingers clutching his forearm, the heat travelling up his arm to the center of his chest, anchoring him. Everything else was distanced, with a slight fuzziness around the edges, a little echo around the sounds, a cushion blocking out the rest of the world.

There was a sensation of motion, strong hands at his back, cupping the back of his head, the trickle of heat across his abdomen as an arm reached over him and buckled him securely into the seat. Then an abatement in what little noise there had been, the motion slowed, stopped, and the heat was releasing him from confinement. The thread of molten gold that was his Guide's voice drew him like an automaton from the lot into the building up the stairs and through the door of their loft. Soft cushions underneath him, a cool sensation of rough nubbiness across his forehead as a cloth was laid there. Warm strength surrounding his hand, advancing to sit close to his side, breathing softly across his cheek, that voice still in his ear.

He followed the sound, and found himself back in the jungle. It was hot, as usual, but not wet, proving it had to be a dream. He hadn't stopped sweating in eighteen months in Peru, so if his warpaint wasn't running, this had to be one of those weird visions and not reality. Of course, he'd just been in Cascade, Washington, so the simple fact that he was wearing war paint to begin with should have tipped him off.

"Getting sloppy, Jim, old man," he muttered under his breath.

"Perhaps not sloppy, but definitely losing your touch." He glanced down beside him. Great. It was the panther, and he didn't look happy. Oddly enough, he was talking without morphing into a human, and without moving his mouth.

"He doesn't want me to touch him!" Jim protested automatically.

"Why?" the big cat asked reasonably. Jim stared at him, then sank down to sit beside the furry black creature, staring directly into its eyes.

"How the fuck should I know?" he responded just as reasonably, considering he was talking to a cat. Who was talking back.

"Why?"

Well, sort of talking back. More of that cryptic shit. He really needed Sandburg on trips like this -- the kid could get a wall to talk, god only knew what he could do with a spirit feline.

"Why is he suddenly acting like I have the plague and it's spread by touch?" Just a hint of sarcasm there. The cat didn't look impressed.

"Why?" This time, it showed its teeth. Jim was suitably impressed, but not in the least enlightened.

"I haven't got a clue," he answered honestly. The panther looked at him as if it wasn't sure whether to bite him, pee on him, or leave him alone. Finally, it sighed.

"Obviously." From somewhere behind him Jim heard what sounded like an irritated yip of some sort, like a coyote or a wolf, but when he turned around he didn't see anything. Turning back to the cat, he caught the end of a glare shot over his shoulder into the shadows, then the panther concentrated on him again. "Your Guide is afraid of the next step."

"What next step?" This time the baring of the teeth was more noticeable, and Jim got the impression the cat would just as soon have bitten him as looked at him. It visibly restrained itself, and continued.

"The Guide has no need to fear. We will … communicate with him." Jim opened his mouth to ask what kind of communication, or at least what the step was, when a very large paw landed on his face, getting fur in his mouth and clogging his nose, effectively stifling any further questions. Thankfully, the claws were sheathed, at least for the moment. He shut up and listened.

"Do not withdraw. He needs you. You need him. Show him this need, and all will be well." The panther paused for a moment, as if debating what else to say, and Jim worked his jaw under the weight of the paw. A claw extended very slowly, and he stilled. The claw tapped him on the end of the nose, then retracted. "Say yes, Enquiri."

Under his breath, he muttered, "Yes, Enquiri." The paw lifted off his face and cuffed him alongside the ear. He rolled with the blow, and when he opened his eyes, he was back in the loft, one arm curled around Blair's waist, with his head in Blair's lap. It was the beginning of a trend.

 

He couldn't run. He couldn't hide. There wasn't a damned thing Blair could do to get away from Jim, and there wasn't a place he could go to get away from him. Jim was closer than a shadow. Simon was happy, because there were no zone outs. Megan was happy, because her suspicions were confirmed, although her "Congrats, Sandy!" confused the hell out of Sandburg. Jim just smiled and tightened his hold on Blair's shoulder. Taggart was happy, because the guys had gotten past their little tiff, or so Blair heard Joel tell Rhonda in the break room.

Rhonda wasn't happy. But she was resigned.

Blair was more confused than ever. Jim was happy. If Jim had been any happier he'd've been purring. As it was, every time Blair looked up at him, Jim would blink lazily down at him, like a housecat giving its owner love blinks. A very large housecat with a whole lot of feral still in him. Who wouldn't let him go.

At lunch, Jim sat so close to him in the booth Blair was practically on his lap. He nearly hyperventilated. Jim petted him. The whole fucking lunch hour. Blair was nearly nuts. Thankfully, they were called out to a murder site. First time he'd ever been thankful for a murder.

Jim had his hand on Blair's shoulder the entire time they were there. Blair attempted to blend into the woodwork, and Jim wrapped one long arm around his waist and hauled him back into the center of the action. Blair tried to avoid looking at the mutilated corpse, and Jim swung him neatly behind his back, where Blair was securely held by one arm. At that point, he gave up, buried his head between Jim's shoulder blades, and waited to see what would happen next. What didn't happen was a zone out. Jim found a scrap of material, a trace of perfumed talcum powder, and a partial heel print that corresponded to the corpse's estranged girlfriend, all of which forensics had missed. It was a highly successful afternoon. No one even mentioned the fact that Ellison didn't let go of Sandburg the entire time.

Apparently, this was expected.

Jim didn't talk that night at dinner. He touched, instead. Brushing fingers as they set the table, patting him as they wandered around one another putting the meal together. A lean hip barely burning past his ass as the bigger man reached over him for a bowl from the cabinet. What could only have been a quick inhalation ruffling the curls at the back of his neck as he tossed the salad. Blair was shaking before they even sat down.

Once settled, Blair didn't talk either, which was unusual. He spent all his time staring at his roommate, wondering what the hell was going on behind those calm, lazy, contented eyes. By nine p.m. he'd had all he could take, and escaped into his room to flop on the bed and stare at the ceiling. Too much input. Too much data, too many variables, and not enough solid evidence to draw a decent conclusion. The scientist in him came to the fore, attempting to impose some sort of order onto the chaos of his mind. The battle was still ongoing when he fell asleep.

He was in the jungle again, like when he and Jim had gone to Peru to rescue Simon and Daryl, only moreso. More green, more lush, more intense. More trees, more sounds, more shadows. And a panther. He didn't remember seeing a panther here before. Next to a wolf. What was a wolf doing in the jungle?

"He belongs here." The voice echoed in his head. He looked around wildly. Who'd said that? "As do you."

Swinging back around, he caught the impression of black bulk and graceful movement as the panther launched itself at him. Bracing instinctively for the impact, he found himself catching air, his hands grasping at nothingness. He opened eyes he didn't realize he'd closed, and found himself in a stone room. It wasn't cold, even though it should have been, because he was nude. He was chained, by one wrist and one ankle, to a twisted iron rack, long chains that allowed him movement but no escape. Pulling at them, first gently then more strongly until he was using all his strength, he tried to break free.

"You will only exhaust yourself." He looked up from his struggles to see … himself. Sitting calmly on a low stone dais covered with furs and soft pillows, as nude as he himself was. A perfect mirror image, without the chains. His mirror self wore a fetish around his neck on a chain, a small black panther, back low, legs extended, in full stalking mode. "You're well and truly caught, but only by yourself."

The other Blair pointed at the rack, and he gasped, instinctively leaning forward. The chains didn't end at the rack, now, but wound around it, connecting on the other side with a similarly bound Jim. His partner was caught against the rack, the twisting bars cutting into his skin, flaying him. Blair looked down at the chains pulled taut against his own limbs, and realized that it was _his_ struggles that had pulled Jim so tightly into the sharp rack. He immediately scuttled toward the rack, easing the tension in the chains, releasing the hold on Jim.

To his shock, Jim didn't back away, just threw himself even tighter against the bars, hands reaching pleadingly through the small openings toward Blair. As he watched, the openings gradually tightened around Jim's wrists, breaking the skin, grinding the bones and tendons together, crushing the muscles and flesh, mangling them. Blair screamed, tearing at the deadly rack trying to protect his Sentinel.

"It is your barrier, Shaman. Only you can destroy it."

The words made no sense, but they echoed over and over in his mind, adding to the cacophony of cries there, his own, Jim's, the scream of the panther, the howl of the wolf. He threw himself at the wall that was engulfing his mate, wrenching at it with all his might, calling Jim's name over and over.

Blair woke as the last of the iron twisted around their bodies, his fingers finally finding Jim's, hands clenching around one another, blood running between them, slicking their grip, binding them together. His throat hurt, his eyes were on fire, and his head felt like it was exploding. He wasn't where he'd thought he was. Somewhere along the line he'd climbed the stairs to Jim's room, for he now lay sprawled over his partner, covering as much of the larger body as he could with his own. His hands clutched convulsively at Jim's, his legs pushed until he could tuck his feet under Jim's calves, and he buried his face in the hollow of Jim's throat. Jim lay perfectly still underneath him.

"Uhm," Jim finally cleared his throat. "Chief? You okay there, buddy?" The question sounded rusty, and Blair could feel Jim staring at him through the darkness.

"No." He snuggled closer.

"Anything I can do?" Jim asked after a long pause.

"Hold on." It wasn't physically possible to get any closer, but he tried anyway.

"Okay," Jim agreed, then finally moved, shifting to turn them over, blanketing him in turn. It felt wonderful, safe, whole, much much better than it should have.

Blair stopped breathing for a second as he took that thought out and examined it closely. Should have? By whose reckoning? Who mattered here, anyway? The breath rushed back in with an audible gasp as he finally made the connection.

Jim, of course.

And himself, of course.

He pulled himself back against the pillows just far enough to see the gleam of reflected light from the window glinting in Jim's pale eyes. "You need me." Jim just nodded. A given, then. "I need you." A sudden stillness above him at the confession, then he could feel Jim's heart begin to race. He pressed his head up again, his ear against Jim's chest, and let that unsteady thump fill his head. Sentinel-soft, he whispered, "we need us." The racing steadied, a strong, steady thunder surrounding him, and he smiled, turning to kiss the center of Jim's chest, directly over that thrum. "Love you."

In the silence of the night, Jim set about proving the same thing to his Guide without saying a word. Hands unwound from clinging fingers and began mapping Blair's face, tracing across his brows, outlining his cheekbones, brushing lightly against the tips of his lashes. A fingertip trailing along his nose, tapping the tip playfully before slipping down to trace the line of his lips. He parted them, inviting the explorer in to play, and sucked gently at the tip, conscious of Sentinel sensitivity. The finger dipped deeper, and he suckled more strongly, the movement mirrored in the unconscious swaying of their hips together. Blair could feel Jim growing erect against him, and he parted his legs to cradle him, holding him comfortably against his own erection, inviting harder pressure, stronger motion.

Before he could zone out on the tongue laving his finger, Jim pulled his hand back and dove it into the thick mass of curls at the nape of Blair's neck. Curving long fingers around his skull, Jim pulled him into a deep kiss, as easily as if they'd devoured one another a million times before. Mouths met, broke apart, twisted back together, delving tongues explored new territory and made it their own. His other hand worked between the mattress and the warm body he held, sliding the length of the spine, rubbing and touching, learning texture, warmth, temperature, softness, elastic length of muscle, sure certainty of bone. In turn, Blair wrapped his own arms around Jim's waist, hands cupping thrusting buttocks, squeezing soft skin and hard muscle rhythmically, encouraging their movement. He curled his legs around Jim's, ankles tucking firmly behind Jim's knees, as he arched into the heavy weight of his partner with all his strength.

It didn't last long, couldn't, with the intensity they brought to their first coming together. Jim came first, body stilling in extremis, hands working deeply to mould Blair to him as tightly as he could. As he trembled, Blair felt his own tenuous control break, and he thrust up uncontrollably into the blood hot, viscous pool spreading between them, into the warm muscled abdomen it covered, the night shattering into a series of convulsions that wrapped his spinal cord around his brain and ripped them both out of his body. When the scattered remains of his mind made some sense of his surroundings again, he realized that Jim had managed to turn them back over, and he was resting comfortably atop a Jim-mattress. One large hand had reached down and snagged the blanket, pulling it up to cover them both, and he gave the shoulder under his chin a nibble in thanks. Then the world faded out to black.

This time, the panther and the wolf didn't come to him. He came to them.

Sitting next to a still pool, in what looked an awful lot like an illustration of Sherwood Forest, Blair grinned at them.

"So, the wall has come tumbling down. Now what?" The cat and the wolf stared at one another for a long moment, as if in silent commiseration, then stared back at the happy young Shaman.

"Listen to your heart," counseled the wolf.

"And listen to your Sentinel's heart," added the panther.

Blair stared off after them as they turned and chased one another back into the depths of the forest. "I take it that means he's not going to be too talkative about all this," he mused aloud, then turned back to the pool. Trailing one finger in the cool water, he closed his eyes and moaned. Something felt incredibly good. Something, no, someone, was … was … ohmigod … he looked down in time to see Jim take his entire cock down his throat, and suddenly realized he was wide awake. Hands scrabbling in the sheets, he opened his mouth to say something, anything, and screamed loud enough to wake the dead as he came down his Sentinel's throat. Every muscle in his body melted.

Hell of a way to start the morning.

 

Jim had woken to hear Blair muttering about hearts and listening and talk to me, squirming beside him in what must have been a heck of a dream. The results in the waking world were pretty impressive, anyway. Blair had kicked off the blanket and was lying on his back beside Jim, one arm flung out to the side, the other trailing up and down Jim's thigh. He took enough time to survey the terrain and, like any good strategist, went for command and control first. Sliding sideways, he kneed Blair's legs apart, knelt down between them, and did his best to swallow him whole.

His best was pretty damned good. Blair jolted from sleep like he'd been hit by lightning, and came like a freight train. Jim cupped Blair's ass in both hands, closed his eyes, relaxed his jaw, and swallowed as fast as he could. By the time the kid was drained, Jim was ready and raring to go. He climbed up his partner's smaller frame, licking and kissing as he went, until he was poised over Blair's utterly relaxed body. He couldn't quite contain his small whimper as he kissed at Blair's mouth, nibbling and pecking, needing some reaction, some sign that he wasn't just going to lay there and hurt all morning. Happily, Blair got enough blood up to his brain to realize that something hadn't quite been dealt with in all the excitement.

Blair trailed his hand around Jim's aching erection, squeezing lightly, trying his damnedest to form words to encourage his Sentinel to go for it. Whatever small noises he could manage were enough, the sound wrapping around Jim's mind like the fingers wrapping around his cock, and he lost himself in the musk, the heat, the pure need in the voice in his head. He pumped into Blair's fist a few times, felt the storm gathering, and let loose the controls on his senses. Everything went into overdrive, wires crossing madly as he could suddenly taste the moans Blair was making, see the musk pouring from him, feel the salt in his sweat and the energy in his sperm, hear the weight of his arm pressed around Jim's waist, the pressure of his hand around him, holding him together as he was flying apart. All his senses were one, for that incredible moment, and they were bound together only by Blair, only by his Guide, keeping him from scattering into pieces.

What felt like moments but was closer to an hour later, Jim managed to unwrap himself from Blair. It was more difficult than expected, in part because much of their skin was glued together by dried semen. Deciding it wasn't worth the effort just yet, he pulled Blair back in his arms and lay there, fingers playing with the ends of his curls. Blair cuddled against him and drifted off in a daze, and Jim grinned to himself. Well, if nothing else, he'd finally found a way to get Sandburg to stop babbling. The grin quickly disappeared. It was so much more. But they'd come so close to losing it. And he still didn't know why Blair had come to him, what had triggered it. He half figured it had something to do with the panther and the wolf, but he didn't know quite how to ask. So he approached it from another direction.

"Chief?"

A soft rumble answered him from somewhere mid-sternum. Jim dropped a kiss atop the curly mop on his chest and tried again. "What prompted this?" It wasn't what he really needed to know, but it was a good start.

"Joel."

He froze. Whatever he'd been expecting, it hadn't been that. "Taggart?" Nah, couldn't be.

"Yeah."

On the other hand, maybe … "What do you mean?"

"Heard him in the break room with Rhonda. Defending our honor. Didn't know we had any relationship to defend, you know, in that way, but he did. Well, him and Simon. And Brown. Who I think wants to watch. Can we talk about this in the morning, Jim? I'm kinda wiped."

Jim was too busy trying to assimilate the most recent information to pay much attention to Blair's mumbled complaint. Simon?? Brown? Watching?! "S'morning already, Chief," he muttered distractedly. Taggart defending their honor??

"Four am is not morning, big guy. It's'a'middle'a'th'nigh…" the soft voice trailed off into a light snore. Jim held him closer and stared off into the darkness. Wow. There had to be more to it than that, and eventually, Blair would tell him. He always did. In the meantime … Careful not to jostle his partner, he reached for his cell phone on the bedside table and punched in a number.

 

"Woah, woah, woah, looks like somebody got lucky last night!" The teasing voice greeted Joel as he walked into the bullpen and he automatically looked behind him, searching for Sandburg. Once in awhile the kid came in looking like an unmade bed, and the guys always teased him for it. But there was no one behind him.

Puzzled, he made his way toward his desk. Megan tossed him a wide grin and a thumbs up, Brown demanded to know what he'd been holding out. Simon wanted to know her name, Rafe was after him to share, and there was a small knot of cops gathered around his desk. With some trepidation, he nudged a couple aside and stared down at his desktop.

Two dozen assorted roses stared back at him from a cut glass vase. It was gorgeous. It was ostentatious. It was clearly marked for him. He reached out for the box in front of the vase, blinked at the brand name of some of the most expensive sugar free chocolates on the market, and stared at the little embossed white card.

"Thanks. J"

J? J? He flashed back a few days, trained detective mind seeing things in retrospect he'd missed at the time. Him, Rhonda, talking about Jim and Blair, leaving the break room, big eyes staring at the floor under unruly curls as the normally hyperactive body stood still as a statue in the shadow of the door. Joel stared at the card, cast a quick glance at Ellison's empty desk, and broke open the chocolates.

Somebody caught the clue bus. Time to celebrate.

 _finis_

 Overheard at a stake-out:

"-then the territorial imperative begins to overtake the learned coping mechanis-"

&lt;unzip&gt; "Yes."

&lt;muffled&gt; "Jim, I can't breathe."

"So, swallow."

Rustle. Moan. Friction. Head bang against the seat.

"holy shit, sandburg…"

"So," sound of licking lips, "As I was saying …"

_&lt;&lt;&lt;zone&gt;&gt;&gt;_


End file.
